The Forest
by ToadstoolTea
Summary: slightlydark!AU / retelling. Wataru Azuma may be the baddest kid in town, but all he wants is to do graduate high school. To do so, he's forced to join the nerdiest club on campus. It's an unlikely event that sets many others into motion, leading Wataru and his companions to discover more about themselves, their backgrounds, and their futures.


A slightly darker universe / canon remix of the 2010 TBS J-drama Tumbling that started as a prompt but somehow became epic in length. Started with the intention of having the mob boss from episode two keep his word and meet Wataru once more, and wondering if the name of the school (Karasumori - _Crow's Forest_) was a throwback to Hiroshi Takashashi's _CROWS_ manga. And then plotting senses quickly spun out of control.

Don't ask why this happened. There's a story, but don't ask about it.

* * *

Line after line has flown back over the border  
Where are you headed all by yourself? [...]  
If they caught you in a net or with a shot,  
Would it be worse than flying alone?

- _Cui Tu, "A Solitary Wildgoose"_

* * *

**Story One. King of the Forest.  
**_0. Pinstripes and a Promise._

* * *

"This whole damned city is going to hell, Natsu. The whole country is."

Next comes the grunt, and then the fiddling with his lapels, as if his chest has swelled so much he is about to burst right out of his double-breasted, pinstriped blazer.

The middle-aged man looks much too smartly-dressed to be patronizing a place such as the dimly-lit shack called Kamome; besides a few neon beer logos under the chalkboard menus and a muted television in the corner of the room, most of the light came in through the windows. The rich blue color of his suit looks even more regal and bold against the yellowed, smoke-stained walls of the diner. The cracks in the wood of the chair he sits in are so regular, they nearly line up with the suit's pinstripes.

The man runs a napkin over his face and places it on top of the crumbs and sauce of his emptied plate before he turns his attention to his paper.

Watching him carefully across the bar is Kamome's owner-slash-bartender-slash-main cook, a woman several years younger. Her face looks somewhat worn, but kind, the pattern of her kimono is slightly faded, and her sleeves are tied back by tasuki. As she polishes a glass, she skims what she can of the headlines visible to her. All are dismal, but none all that unfamiliar.

_ESTIMATED 30% OF LOCAL BUSINESSES LINKED TO YAKUZA_

_TEEN MURDER CASE ARRAIGNMENT TODAY_

_SUMO FIXING SCANDAL REACHES KANAGAWA_

For the man, it's the last one that does it.

"Even sumo. This is Japan. Natsu... when sumo is gone, what will we have?" The man lowered his paper, the look in his eyes distant, and the creases in his brow deep. He looked convinced that he had posed some kind of question for the ages, and the answer would save all of humanity.

When she doesn't answer, the man's eyes dart to and fro, as if he is searching his mind - or perhaps, the room - for an answer. When his eyes finally fall on the television hanging in the corner of the room, a grin breaks out across his face.

"Maybe that?" He pointed up to the television. The woman looked up to see some kind of gymnastics performance on... wasn't it? It was a floor exercise, but it was a group of young men, and the last time she'd checked, men didn't do that sort of thing...

"I was thinking something more along the lines of... baseball, maybe soccer?"

The man folds his paper and leans forward, a twinkle in his eye. "Did you know that men's rhythmic gymnastics is a very Japanese tradition? We essentially reinvented the sport." The woman only stares before grabbing another glass to polish, but the man persists with a youthful grin on his face. "It's true!"

"You know the strangest things."

The man smiles lightly before the newspaper steals his attention back. The woman quietly continues her cleaning. Both are so engrossed in their activities that neither realizes how much time passes until the shop's signal bell rings and heavy footsteps boom down the stairs.

Out of her trance, the woman quickly realizes who it is, and who is still sitting in front of her. There's no way she ask the man to leave without causing a scene, but...

She looks up to boy silent and bewildered in the middle of the restaurant's floor, his usual "I'm home" absent. He is staring wide-eyed at the man in the pinstripe suit, like he knows that he is not one of normal customers, and he's not supposed to be there. Likes he knows just who he might be.

There's not much the woman can do to avert attention from her guest, so she only offers a shaky "welcome home."

It is now that the man looks up from his paper and realizes who has entered the store. With a wide grin, he gets up from from his stool, and turns to approach the boy. "Ah, here's the little one! Well, not so little anymore, I see."

The man looked over the boy, still dressed in a bright blue school uniform. Even without his meticulously spiked hair, the boy stands nearly a head taller than the man in the suit. It's a fact that amuses the man; if he recalls correctly, the Azuma boy was barely into his teens, which means he still has quite a bit of growing left to do...

The boy's gaze on the man intensifies, and the lines in his face fold into a scowl so deep he looks like a dog defending his home. It's an effort than only spurs the man's amusement; he smiles bigger. He can see it - _feel_ it. There's a fire in this boy's eyes, and a fire in his heart. Even if the boy won't speak a word him, it's that look that tells him all he needs to know.

The man stops a few feet from the boy before looking him over again; top to bottom several times, like he's appraising him for sale. Finally, he remarks, "you look to be doing well. Not getting into any trouble, I hope? Making good grades? Eating your vegetables?"

"Don't get any ideas. Wataru's a good boy," says the woman. The man turns to her, regarding her with a grim face. He knows the woman just as well as she knows him, and he knows that her words are not simply a warning. She's _threatening_ him.

After a moment of thought, it's a something that makes the smile return to his face. It's easy to see where the boy's tenacity comes from.

Indeed, the Azumas are an such an... interesting pair. They are most definitely worthy of such a busy and important man's time and attention. He had been keeping an eye on the two for years now, and his meeting the boy today convinces him of nothing but the necessity in watching over them for years to come.

That thought in mind, looks back to the boy, with a twinkle in his eye. "You stay on the right side of things, okay?" he says with a wink. He then withdraws a few billfolds from a wallet as gaudy as the rest of his outfit and tosses it on the bar.

It's a gesture that earns him a growl from the boy. But he the man is so light on his feet he's able to pat the boy on the head and make it the the front door without before any response.

From the safety of the exit, he smiles once more. "Well, I'm off. Take care, Natsu."

Her head bowed, she quickly moves to the bar to retrieve the payment and dirtied dishes. By the time she returns, the boy is sitting at the stool where the man sat minutes prior, a cigarette dangling from his lips and twirling a lighter in his fingers.

"Kaa-chan," he drawls, as he lights the cigarette in his mouth. The woman stares at the boy in response, considering his strange juxtaposition of features. The playful hair, the tobacco between his lips. The height of a full-grown man in a middle-school uniform she'd had to specially order. Those eyes that reminded her so much of _him_, such an old soul at times, though they became puffy and rimmed with tears whenever she threatened him for his childish antics.

_Her son._

The boy wonders if he's being judgmental. He usually knows whether he'll like or dislike a person within seconds of meeting them, but that man... that feeling was new. He's never felt that he should hate a person from first impressions alone.

He looks to the television to see the boys tumbling in their tights sequined tops, thinks how strange it is, and how it reminds him of something. But he can't follow the train of thought for how uncomfortable the man has made him. Taking a few puffs of his cigarette, he turns to the woman behind the counter and asks, "the hell was that?" while gesturing toward the entrance.

She gathers the abandoned newspaper and tucks it away behind the counter, picks up the remote and turns off the television. The returns to her place before the boy and looks over him for just enough time to pique his attention before she speaks:

"Wataru."

The boy's eyes light up in recognition. He knows the tone. This is important. He crushed the cigarette in one of the stray ashtrays at the bar, and now his eyes are wide and childlike and waiting.

She stands in front of the boy, arms folded, considering how she will choose her words. There aren't many times when, in that moment, you know your actions will have a lasting, life-changing effect on someone's life, but she knows what will follow will be that for her son.

Then she takes a deep breath.

"Wataru, right now, can you promise me one thing?"


End file.
